


Hot Potato Sub, or, Sub Sandwich

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BDSM, Crack, Dark Crack, M/M, Rebirth, crackfic, deathwish+, nonconsenting master, passive-aggressive sub, pillows, this is all the bingo card's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22769965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Things are not as they seem in Angband. Love is the deadliest weapon.  Co-created with Fila, with some fun input from Smaug.
Relationships: Surprise!
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Hot Potato Sub, or, Sub Sandwich

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SWG Crackuary Bingo Challenge: 'Rebirth and Reembodiment taken to their Logical Extremes'

384 First Age

Upon his throne sat the Dark Lord, he who now held all three Silmarilli and shadowed Middle-earth in terror and fear. To his left in the hall of polished black marble was Mairon, called now Gorthaur by the Eldar, seated on his own chair of galvorn. The great throne at the center was made of onyx and black pearls. The light of the Silmarilli caused the smooth surfaces to shine in the dim light of the chamber. A third seat was reserved for Thuringwethil, though she was on patrol, and not expected to return for some time. 

It was therefore strange to hear the sound of her vanguard shrieking at the entrance. Mairon looked up at Melkor, called now Morgoth, who shrugged, but motioned for Gothmog to see to the doors. At the far end from the thrones, the doors were opened, and Thuringwethil entered the chamber. Her wings were outstretched as she came forward, fingers curled around the neck of a young, wiry elf who did not fight against her. So many of the prisoners captured by any of Melkor’s lieutenants would often struggle and be bound when brought forth to face judgement for trespassing and other transgressions, but this elf seemed not only compliant, but almost confident.

Melkor squinted his eyes as Mairon rolled his. “Is that…”

“Looks like him.”

“How in...no. No.” Melkor stood and waved his arm. Thuringwethil stopped, though the elf continued on. “Halt!” boomed Melkor’s voice, and now, the elf froze. “You are not welcome here.”

“Oh, but I know that well, O Lord of Darkness and Plight and Villainy! I have come into these lands unbidden, where I am unwelcome! I suppose I shall be punished gravely for such a mistake,” answered the elf.

“On the contrary,” said Melkor. He looked at Thuringwethil. “I thought we agreed he was to be sent away if he returned. Which should have been impossible, because I have killed him four times already.”

“Actually, six,” piped up the elf. Melkor glared at the uninvited guest. “Oh! I have upset thee, O Magnificent Doom-bringer! I should be put in my place.”

“What is going on?” asked Gothmog of Mairon.

Mairon sighed. “We caught him for the first time just after Maedhros was subdued. The difference between them was that this elf did not spit in our faces or try to bite me or call us foul names. He seemed to enjoy the pain we inflicted, and eventually, Melkor killed him in annoyance. But then, he returned. Repeatedly,” drawled Mairon.

“You need to leave,” declared Melkor. He waved a hand to Thuringwethil. She began to descend upon the elf, but the elf ran to Melkor and wrapped his arms around Melkor’s boots.

“O, Masterful Master!” he cried out. “Willst thou send me away without exacting proper punishment upon me?”

“Yes,” Melkor answered readily. He managed to free one foot and used it to push the elf away from him. “Honestly, your behavior is…”

“Creepy,” supplied Mairon.

The elf managed to get a hold around a leg of the throne, this time, wrapping both arms and legs around it. Momentarily defeated, Melkor sat back down and looked at the parasitic elf who batted his lashes at him. “You do know this is highly questionable behavior, do you not? How is it they are even allowing you out of the Halls of Waiting? Once, perhaps. Twice, maybe. But every time you end up there, they must be releasing you immediately--and how do you end up here so quickly?”

“The first time I stayed in the halls for a few years,” explained the elf. “The second time, I barely made it in before Daddy turned me out again.”

“Your father is in the Halls of Waiting, and has power to release you?” questioned Melkor with disbelief. 

“No--Daddy is my name for Mandos. For a while, he just seemed confused when I called him that, but then somebody had to explain it to him and ruin all my fun,” pouted the elf. “Will you be my Daddy now?”

“Certainly not,” growled Melkor.

“Can we kill him now?” asked Mairon.

“Yes, please,” said the elf.

“Stop encouraging him!” scolded Melkor. “Besides, all he is going to do is come back again!” 

“Can I pick this time?” asked the elf, engaged in conversation with Mairon.

Mairon squirmed a little. “On second thought, never mind. The last time--” He looked to Gothmog. “The last time, Melkor turned him over to me. So I impaled him on a long wooden pole. With his last breaths, he whined at me that I was cruel because I did not allow him a mirror so he could watch. And, he died erect.”

“I assume you do not mean his body.”

The elf giggled. “That was really fun--except for the lack of mirror. We should try again--but you should go slower this time.”

“I am going back on patrol,” announced Thuringwethil.

“No! Please do not leave, O Mistress of Mutilation!” The elf looked to Gothmog and informed him with such reverence, “The time she killed me, she gouged my eyes out. I asked her if she was going to make me eat them, but then she just slit my throat. I feel like we could do so much better this time.”

“We really need to build a higher wall around Angband,” noted Melkor. 

“Triple the patrols,” Mairon added.

“More aerial patrols,” agreed Thuringwethil.

Gothmog stepped a little closer to examine the elf. “What if we just hung him off the mountain like we did to Maedhros.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, please! You should do that! We should do that right now!” The elf presented himself to Gothmog. “And maybe, after we get there, you could whip me a few times. You have such big, strong, enforcing arms and powerful shoulders,” cooed the elf.

Gothmog blinked. “Actually, I think I heard Carcharoth calling.” Gothmog headed swiftly for one of the side doors.

“Gothmog! Gothmog, you get back here!” demanded Melkor. Gothmog kept walking. “Gothmog, I swear, I will take your wings away if you do not--” Melkor looked down and groaned. “No. Stop that.”

The elf was now on his hands and knees, peppering kisses on Melkor’s boots. “O Commanding and Demanding One, you know how much I adore it when you assert your dominance.”

“If you would like, my lord, I can take him back to the borders and leave him there,” offered Thuringwethil.

“That would be most appreciated,” said Melkor.

“Please, Morgie, do not abandon me,” whimpered the elf.

“Morgie?” Both Thuringwethil and Mairon questioned simultaneously.

Melkor cleared his throat. And then, something very strange happened. He started to blush. “I told you never to call me that in public,” hissed Melkor.

The elf’s eyes lit up. “But, Morgie, we had such a nice time together.”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” demanded Mairon.

“You never told them?” The elf was suddenly in Melkor’s lap with his arms around the dark lord’s neck. “The second time I was here, we had such a nice time together. It was the best death ever when it was done.” He nuzzled his cheek against the cold, black armor plate covering Melkor’s chest. 

Melkor shoved the elf onto the ground. “I disemboweled him. He...had a reaction to it,” Melkor settled on. He looked to his left and glared. “Are you laughing at me, Mairon?”

“No sir. Not laughing at you,” replied Mairon from behind his hand.

Melkor looked down at the elf on the floor, who had returned to kissing and licking his boots. “I am not a nice person. I am not going to give you what you want.”

The elf abruptly stopped. “Well...then you should certainly not spank me. I detest being spanked.” He raised a challenging brow. “One thing I would never, ever want is to be spanked and then have you bind my wrists above my head and spread my feet apart--oh, no, I would never, ever want that,” the elf said solemnly. “So if you did that, I would just despise it. Absolutely hate it! And things I would hate also would be if you...cut out my tongue for such disobedience and, uh… stabbed me...repeatedly. I would be very cross if that happened! You must never do that! And you must never humiliate me publicly in any way--I would just be beside myself if you did that!” 

“No, I do not believe you because you came in here wanting to be captured and wanting to be tortured! If you had come in here and insulted me, then maybe I would have considered all of those things,” Melkor said without thinking, but then, it was too late to take the comments back.

“Well...you are...a mildly stinking piece of goat shit,” declared the elf.

Everyone in the room, with the exception of Melkor, burst out laughing.

Immediately, the elf regretted it, and before he could receive response from Melkor, threw himself at Melkor’s feet and snuggled his legs. “Oh, how could I be so cruel to you, Morgie? We have had so many good times together--surely you could just do a little something to me? Just a little torture? Please? I came all this way just to see you,” said the elf. 

Thuringwethil snickered. “Morgie,” she snorted.

Melkor pointed a finger across the room at Thuringwethil. “You--back to patrol.” 

“Yes, sir!” Thuringwethil made a hasty exit.

Melkor looked to Mairon, who was still trying to control his laughter. “Mairon, perhaps we have gone about this all wrong. Perhaps you should show our guest to the...special room.”

The elf perked up. “The special room? That sounds ominous. I like it already,” he said.

“The special room?” wondered Mairon. Melkor gestured by placing his hands together and leaning his head against them. “Oh! That room! That is a marvelous idea,” agree Mairon.

Excitedly, the elf was on his feet, his hands bound with rope. “I am ready for the special room!”

Melkor blinked. “Where did you even get rope?” 

“I came prepared,” the elf said.

‘Creepy,’ mouthed Mairon.

Melkor shook his head. “Mairon, please escort our guest to the special room.”

“My pleasure,” said Mairon. Mairon roughly took hold of the elf’s elbow. The elf let out a low moan and Mairon rolled his eyes. He brought the elf through the maze of Angband until they reached a door with a small slit in it for peering in. Before the elf could see inside, Mairon had the door unlocked and shoved the elf within.

The elf hit the floor--with a floof. He blinked and looked around. “What is all this?” he demanded as Mairon untied his wrists and confiscated the rope.

“This is your new home,” said Mairon. “We call this the pillow room. It is one of my private torture chambers.”

“Oh.” The elf frowned. “Mandos had a pillow room, too. I ended up there the first time I was dead.” The elf tested one of the pillows. “This pillow room is so much worse!” 

“I take no pride nor shame in my pillow room,” declared Mairon. 

The elf rubbed his hand over the fabric of the nearest pillow. “This is horrible! These are much too soft and silky! Where are the chains? Where are the implements of torturous intent? Where is Morgie?” the elf suddenly realized. 

“You will not see those items in this room any time soon,” promised Mairon, who was already backed up to the doorway. “I hope you have a lovely stay.”

“But I do not want a lovely stay!” were the last words Mairon heard from the elf that day. 

\---

384 First Age, Four Days Later

Four days later, Mairon and Melkor entered the room. They found the elf slumbering on the hard floor, pillows pushed to the sides of the room, with the exception of three or four. These had been destroyed. Feathers were scattered about, and the fabric of the cases reappropriated to be used as restraints for the elf. He had strips bound around his wrists and his ankles, and slept with a gag in his mouth.

“I am oddly impressed,” Melkor admitted. 

“Idea: Elf, but evil,” suggested Mairon

“We have those. We call them orcs,” Melkor said.

“Shit. Right.”

“Besides--I do believe he would be useless on the battlefield.” 

Mairon tilted his head. “Gagging himself is interesting. You know, we could cut out his tongue as was suggested. Then we would not need to listen to his whining.”

“No,” said Melkor softly. “I tried that once. The other noises he made were much, much worse. It was like he was in perpetual ecstasy.”

“Ew,” replied Mairon. The elf began to stir, and Mairon tapped a finger against his lips. “You know--it has been a really slow day. He is already bound and gagged.”

Melkor crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed the situation. “Two of us and one of him, and he is already gagged. How do you propose this work?”

“We can share,” Mairon said matter-of-factly. “You can go first, of course, m’lord.”

On the floor, the elf, who was awake now, nodded in agreement.

“He would like that far too much,” Melkor said. “You go first.”

\---

590 First Age

Eönwë traversed the hallways of Angband. Thus far, he had found many a prisoner in need of rescue. Two lesser Maiar called out to him, and he came to where they stood by a door. “We found another one, but it is locked,” said one of them.

“It is a strange room,” said the other. “There are piles of pillows all over, and only one elf inside.”

A quick look into the room made Eönwë step back. “Leave him,” he commanded.

The others were taken aback. “But Lord Manwe declared that all should be saved!”

“He is beyond that,” Eönwë said firmly.

“But Lord Manwe--”

“Fine. Rescue him--but leave me out of it,” said Eönwë.

The pair of Maia broke the door in, effectively waking the elf in the room. “Rise, child of Eru! You have been liberated!” 

The elf frowned. “But I do not want to be liberated.”

The other Maia pointed to the door. “You are free to go. Morgoth has been vanquished to the Void.”

“What? Why? No,” said the elf. “Can I go to the Void?”

“Why would you want to go to the Void, child?” asked one of the Maia.

“Never mind--uh…” The elf looked around. “Well, as you can see, I was in cahoots with them. Just look at this room! I suppose you will have to punish me.”

“Punish you? Surely not--you are just confused,” the Maia assured him as he was taken from the room. 

“They probably tortured him into thinking this way,” said the other sadly.

“If only,” the elf huffed.

\---

2254 Second Age

A firm knock came upon the door of Erestor’s office. The elf looked up and beckoned the elf in the doorway in. “Come in, Lord Glorfindel, come in,” said Erestor warmly.

Glorfindel seemed a little hesitant to enter, but did so anyway. “Master Erestor--”

“Please. Just Erestor,” said the elf.

Glorfindel gave a nod. “Erestor, as you are aware, I have been in the Halls of Waiting for quite some time.”

“Did you get to see the pillow room?” asked Erestor.

Glorfindel blinked. “The what?”

“I guess not.” Erestor set his quill down. “How are things in the Halls of Waiting these days?”

“They seem well enough,” said Glorfindel. He sat on the edge of the chair nearest Erestor’s desk. “So...Mandos told me I should seek you out when I arrived.”

“Oh…did he now?” A smile played on Erestor’s lips.

“Yes. He told me a few things, and I wanted to--”

“Interrogate me?” asked Erestor with a hopeful note in his voice.

“Not exactly,” said Glorfindel. He lowered his voice, for the door was still open. “I was told that several times during the First Age, you knowingly and willingly entered Angband, and were killed almost every time.”

“Except the last one,” Erestor said. It sounded as if he was perturbed. 

“Erestor, I am going to be blunt,” said Glorfindel. He had to adjust in his seat to keep eye contact on Erestor, for Erestor went to the door to close it, and then went to a closet and began to sort through the contents. “The enemy is afoot. There is a thought that Sauron--”

“Mairon,” corrected Erestor.

“Yes, see, that is exactly what I am concerned about. Erestor, it seems as if you...admire Sauron and Morgoth.”

Erestor giggled from the closet. He poked his head out and said, “I certainly admire something about them.” He returned to the closet.

“I need to be assured that you will not seek out Sauron,” Glorfindel said firmly.

“Oh...do you think he would want to see me again?” asked Erestor. There was a hopeful note in his voice.

“Erestor, I feel as if I am only getting part of the story. I would really appreciate knowing that you are not in collusion with the enemy.”

With a sigh, Erestor turned around and studied Glorfindel. “Between us,” he said.

Glorfindel nodded. 

“I have...some unusual tastes.”

“Dark lords,” guessed Glorfindel.

Erestor giggled again. “No. That is just silly. That would be a stereotype,” he declared. “Do you know how hard it is to find another elf who will agree to strike you until there are delightful open wounds, warm blood making you feel oh so alive?”

“I cannot say I do,” Glorfindel replied.

“Elves are boring,” Erestor decreed. “I found what I wanted, accidentally, when I was captured the first time. I kept going back to get what I needed. The Valar realized this, and they kept releasing me, knowing I would go there, and knowing I would cause a distraction each time. Even if it was only for a few hours, it was worth it to them. And, to me.”

“Surely they should have kept you in the Halls of Waiting longer, though, just to heal?” questioned Glorfindel.

Erestor shrugged. “I called Mandos ‘Daddy’ one too many times, and he kept evicting me on sight after that.”

“I see.”

“If you think the Dark Lord has returned, though, I should see if I can find him.” Erestor went back to the closet.

“That would be unwise,” said Glorfindel.

“True,” agreed Erestor. “But I think I could find him.”

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “Do you know where he is?”

“Maybe?” Erestor did not sound confident. 

“I doubt you do.”

“Sometimes I sleepwalk,” Erestor said quickly. 

“I doubt that as well.”

“But, you are not certain.” Erestor pulled a wooden chest from the closet and set it on the desk. “Just in case, you should probably restrain me at night. If only you had some chains with which to do so.” Erestor flipped the lid back on the chest. “Oh! Here they are!”

Glorfindel frowned. “You literally have a wooden chest with the word ‘chains’ carved on the side.”

“Oh--does it?” Erestor innocently looked around the side of the chest. “Lucky guess.”

“You knew they were in that closet, too,” accused Glorfindel.

“Of course I did. I put them there,” Erestor said. He wrapped a leather cuff around his wrist and purred. “Still fits.”

“I am not chaining you up.”

Erestor dropped the metal and leather back into the chest and shut the lid. “Then why did you even come?” He drummed his fingers on the top of the chest. “Why did you come?” he mused. He looked at Glorfindel, and Glorfindel looked away. “Yes. Curious. The Valar send you, and send you straight here, and to speak to me--and about all this. They knew it would lead to this. Why?” Erestor walked around and sat down in his chair and scrutinized Glorfindel.

“Because I am here to assist in capturing or overthrowing Sauron, and you have a connection to him.”

“No. There is something else. Something that would make them choose you over someone else to get to me.” Erestor stared at Glorfindel a long while and kept his hands on the arms of his chair. “Were you the one who threw Eol into the crevice?”

“Yes,” admitted Glorfindel.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No.”

“You were one of the kinslayers?”

“I was.”

“Did you enjoy killing the Teleri?”

“Certainly not.”

“What about the balrog?”

“What about him?”

This question had made Glorfindel look away, so Erestor pursued. “Did you enjoy killing him?”

“No,” said Glorfindel quietly.

“Did you enjoy that he killed you?”

“No,” came the quieter reply.

Erestor frowned and shook his head. “Why can I not read this riddle,” he wondered.

Glorfindel tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and glanced at the chest.

With a smile, Erestor stood up and walked around behind Glorfindel’s chair. Without warning, he suddenly pulled his hair back so that Glorfindel was looking up at him. “I bet you liked that moment he yanked you off the cliffside, though.”

Glorfindel swallowed hard. 

Erestor let go and went to the chest. He picked it up and brought it to Glorfindel, setting it on his lap. “Chain me to the bed at night and I promise to pull your hair every morning.” There seemed to be a moment of hesitation, so Erestor tugged on one of Glorfindel’s braids.

“Where is your room?” asked Glorfindel as he lifted up the chest.

“Right this way. Can I call you Daddy?” asked Erestor as they left the office.

“Absolutely not.”

“It was worth a try.

\---

3019 Third Age

In the swirling nothingness of the Void, Morgoth expressed his discontent with various facial expressions. “You had one job. Literally one job. All you had to do was kill everything--and you fell in love with an elf, and you made jewelry together, and you got caught by some men, and you lost a magic ring that you thought was a good idea? Did you learn nothing of the bullshit with the Silmarilli?” scolded Melkor.

Mairon yawned. It had been a long day already. “Sorry, Daddy.”

  
  



End file.
